Kicking the Broken
by Papyrus VanHelsing
Summary: Dean's highschool is hell. Not the "mean teachers, dumb classmates, hard work" hell, the "Bullied, abused, teased, accused, and raped" hell. All he does is confess his feelings for another boy, then BOOM, his life is a living nightmare. Will he get through the treatmeny, or will he crack beneath the pressure? WARNING: Rape, bullying, self harm-blame, ect. Dont like, dont read!
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N) Hello! New fic, and for anybody who reads my old one, "hell against the heart," I'm sorry for not posting new chapters. I have severe writers block, so reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated on my other fic. Anyway, this story contains extreme bullying that is both heart-breaking and angering, as well as non-consensual sex and violence. I don't want to give too much away... Anyway, the sex isn't too graphic, but is disturbing. This is your warning. No incest in this, thank god, but it has homosexual sexual orientation, as well as denial, and for the right reasons... but, like I said, I don't wanna give it all away. Don't like, then don't read. Then you won't flame. Its a mutually positive situation. **

**It's not complicated. I don't own these boys, so DON'T SUE. Thank you to all the people who understand what I'm getting at when I write these kinds of fanfiction. I don't like rape, I like recovery. Resiliency. I could go on... **

**OKAY, finally, I want to thank all people who are still going to read this. It means a lot! **

**Okay, for real finally, I want to dedicate this story to my cousin, Maddie, for helping me figure out what to do with it and what to make happen. Thanks, Madds! 3**

**ALRIGHTY! **

**Enjoy part 1!**

Dean hit the ground with a soft thud, but he couldn't say the same for his books, which flew out of his hand and spread out across the un-swept floor of the hall. He scrambled to collect his things, even though he knew they would be smacked out of his grasp again.

"Yeah, pick it up, fag." Derek yelled to Dean, kicking his papers even farther away from his frantic and grabbing hands.

Dean ignored the bully's accusation at him, gathering his items as he knew the bell would ring at any second. When he had grabbed all of his belongings, he ducked his head and sped away, only to be yanked back and pushed into a locker.

"Where do you think you're going, faggot?" Derek asked rhetorically, getting up in Dean's face. Derek's blue eyes shone in dominance, his short, blonde hair almost seeming to bristle. He had an awful nose that had obviously been broken dozens of times, by wrestling, Dean guessed, as he was the best player on the team. It was horribly intimidating.

"I-uh..." He stuttered. "Class. I'm going to class."

"Yeah, like back in P.E. where you tried to get fucked by Jack in the locker room, huh?"

Dean swallowed and squinted his eyes, grimacing. "No." He wheezed out, bright red coloring his cheeks. He thought back to the crush he had on Jack from history class. He had always been nice and helpful and funny and... No. No, it wasn't a crush. Dean didn't like him. Dean didn't like fucking guys! He wasn't gay. He WASN'T gay! Can you imagine the thought of his dad having raised a gay child? The look of disgust that would breach on his father's face at knowing his first born was a... Fag?

Just then, the bell rung, and Derek scowled at Dean. Then, without warning, he threw Dean to the ground once more and ran off to his class.

"See ya later, prick!" He yelled, and Dean could hear his stupid chuckles echo off of the hall walls, each one becoming more and more distant.

Dean heaved a sigh, and got up from the ground for the umpteenth time that day. He trudged on to class, hoping that the door would still be opened and he wouldn't be locked out, only to be marked later as tardy.

When he reached the door to science, he was relieved to see that the room was still wide open, although he bluntly noted that there were no stragglers except for him who were just now getting to class.

"You're late, Mr. Winchester," said Mr. Jackman when he noticed Dean walk to his seat.

"I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen again." Dean promised.

"This is the fourth time in a row you've been late to class, Dean." Mr. Jackman reminded his student, who seemed rather uncomfortable being the center of attention in the class.

Dean just nodded, lowering his head.

"Where on Earth are you during these breaks, son? That takes up all if this time?"

Dean heard the sniggering coming from a good portion of the boys in the class, and he raised his stare up at a select few of them. He saw one of the jocks in the group making the vulgar sign of '_blowjob_' and he could feel his face redden in embarrassment.

For a long while, Dean sat there, staring into space as his teacher gave them the lecture on dark matter for the 6th time.

"Alright class, before the big test next bell, I'm going to let you quiz each other on what you know. So, ask any questions you like about the topic to the partner of your choice."

Just like that, partners were being distributed immediately. In no less than 45 seconds, everybody seemed situated with the person they would be quizzing. Everyone but two.

The only remaining student for Dean was Marcus Hardin, a stellar football player and, in Dean's standards, a huge dumb ass. He was short, yet buff, with dark hair and a constant stupid expression on his face.

Marcus took one look around and cursed. He knew Dean was the only one left to be partners with. He knew he would have to work with the _gay kid_...

Reluctantly, Marcus made his way towards Dean. When he reached his desk, he was mumbling. "And I gotta work with the homo!" He pouted as if Dean weren't right in front of him.

Dean's eyes went down cast as his words hit him in the face. "Can we just do the questions and get this over with?" He asked softly, knowing Marcus could very well kick his ass any time he wanted.

"Fine." Marcus sulked. His mouth widened slightly in a grin as he thought of something to ask. "So, question one; do you bottom?" He asked as though that was the topic that they were studying.

"Excuse me?" Dean blurted.

"Oh, come on, faggot, you know what I mean. You bottom, don't you?"

That one stung. _A lot_. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He shot back "Is there something you're not telling us there, Ho-"

Dean couldn't finish his sentence. He was sent flying back on his chair from the punch Marcus had struck at with. Dean almost blacked out with the force of the blow, but he blinked back the stars that were twinkling at the corners of his eyes.

He couldn't quite perceive what was going on. It was all really foggy, but he thought he could make out Marcus being held back by... His teacher. As he recovered from the hit, he slowly understood that Marcus was being sent to the principal's office.

The rest of the day was a blur. It was the usual stuff that happened. He would get criticized. He would receive notes that said things like fag and gay and would have pornographic pictures of... Him. Dean would burn them. Burn all of the horrible notes ever given to him. He could burn away all of the gay in him. All of the thoughts of being attracted to other guys. It was killing him. He'll deny it all until it comes back to haunt him. He just wanted to be normal.

When the bell that sounds the end of the school rung, Dean couldn't be happier. His head was killing him. He was probably bruising. His eye throbbed and his nose ached. He just wanted to find Sam and go home. He would go to his locker and walk to the motel with him. He could almost forget what happened to him at school when he was with his little brother.

When Dean reached his locker, he quickly found he had company.

Derek pushed Dean into his locker so that his chest was facing the wall, and his backside was exposed to the bully. "Feel familiar, Winchester?" Derek hissed into Deans ear. He laughed at his own joke and pulled Dean's shoulder to make him face him. "I heard what happen with Hardin today," Derek said, obviously studying the bruise of Dean's face, "he's pissed." Dean lidded his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. "'Said you were gonna get it." Derek elaborated. "I wonder what that means..."

"Just, can I please get in my locker?" Dean pleaded, thinking of how he needed to meet up with Sam.

"Why?" Derek asked, "because you gotta fuckdate with some guy tonight that you don't wanna miss?"

Dean struggled to get out of Derek's hold, put the attempt was futile. This angered the bully and he let go of Dean and kicked him to the ground. He slammed the poor boy's locker shut and walked back up to Dean, who was lying on the floor helplessly.

"What's the matter, faggot? Getting a little too rough for you? Sorry, there's no safe word in this round." Derek began kicking Dean in the stomach, and Dean was getting the wind knocked out of him.

"STOP!" He yelled to the bully. "Please, stop!"

Derek bent down and slightly raised him up from his jacket, "I bet this isn't the only situation you had to say that..."

Dean was close to tears, but he didn't want to cry in front of the bastard. Not to mention it would make all of this a hundred times worse.

"No..." He tried, "I'm not gay..."

Neither of the two 12th graders noticed 9th grade Sam, who had crossed the corner to the hall to try and find his older brother. Although, he did have a good hiding spot behind the lockers.

"We all know you're a huge fag, Dean, so don't deny it." Derek was pulling Dean up from off if the ground and he shoved him into the hard brick wall. "Have a nice fuck tonight, Winchester, have fun bottoming!" Dean had to admit, Derek wasn't very good at insults. But they did hurt. They hurt a lot.

Dean leaned against the wall for a long period of time, looking like he could break down any minute. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor and he put his hands to his face. Sam watched his brother as he tried to rub his face, but he accidentally touched the shiner on his eye and he hissed in pain. Sam was frozen in fear, desperately trying to process what he had just seen. What he heard the big kid bully his older brother with. Dean was... Gay?

No. No, that couldn't be right. Dean wasn't... But why hadn't he fought back? They had been training in hand to hand combat their entire lives. They hunted and killed monsters! So why wouldn't he fight back? Sam was very confused. He was pissed, too. Nobody could bully his brother! Sam wanted to kill the bastard that called his big brother a... _Fag_!

Sam was taken out of his thoughts when he heard Dean's voice murmuring something. He began to listen.

"Okay, Dean, just act like it didn't happen." Dean mumbled, talking to himself. "It didn't happen. It didn't happen. Find Sam and get the hell out of here. Just tell him you got in a fight, yeah, he'll believe that. Come on, you wimp, get up, find Sammy and go home."

Oh, shit. Sam was gonna stay after for soccer try-outs! He couldn't walk home with Dean today. That was the whole reason that _he_ was going to find his brother, to tell him he was gonna be staying for try-outs. Jenny, Sam's girlfriend, really wanted him on the soccer team. He couldn't pass this up.

But Dean...

Sam noticed when Dean got up and walked towards the hallway to the 9th graders, more specifically, where he was hiding, and he panicked. He couldn't see him like this! He'd know that he had seen it all happen! Acting without thinking, Sam began to walk forward, playing it off as if he had been walking the whole time. He bumped into his brother, who was jogging to the same direction, and Dean was surprised.

"Oh, hey Dean," Sam quipped. He paused, then frowned. "How'd you get that black-eye?" He asked as if he were completely surprised that Dean looked the way he did.

"Oh, I-I got in a fight." Dean lied, just as he told himself he would. "The kid got his ass handed to him." Dean gave his brother a cocky grin, hoping that Sam believed him.

"Nice." Sam said, raising his eyebrows like he didn't know the truth. Sam was a good enough actor. "Listen, I got soccer try-outs today and I really wanna get on the team. Will you pick me up from school at 5?"

Dean hid his disappointment. "Sure, Sam. No problem."

"Thanks, Dean. I'll see you later." Sam said, gearing up to run to the gym.

"Good luck, Sammy." Dean yelled as he watched his baby brother sprint away.

In other situations, Sam would have snapped back at him, claiming that his name was SAM, not SAMMY. But he didn't want to hurt his brother, even in the slightest way.

When his little brother was out of sight, Dean sighed and began the walk home, forgetting his books that were in his locker that he should have taken with him. When he got home, he could forget this day happened. If he only knew how wrong he was...

The air outside was bitterly cold. The kind of cold that you think I should be snowing but it isn't. Dean's face stung from the biting wind and throbbed from the punch. Obviously, the walk home was miserable for him.

He had crossed about a half mile on the sidewalks when he found an alley way that lead him towards the motel room he and his family had inhabited. When he entered the alley, he found that it offered a nice rest from the fierce wind, with the compromise that there were a few rats and the way looked as sketchy as could be. No matter. He would be home soon. What he didn't see, however, was the shadow that had been following him pretty much ever since he left the school grounds.

About half way in the alley, Dean was unexpectedly pushed into the brick wall. He exclaimed in surprise and hardly had time to brace himself before he was knocked into cold brick. His knuckles gained impact and they were skidded and started to bleed quickly. Recovering from the shock, Dean spun around to face whoever had pushed him. His breath caught in his throat when he made out the features of Marcus's angry face.

"What are-" he tried to ask, but he was cut off by the meaty hand that wrapped around his neck. The only sounds Dean made then were small, choked noises.

"You calling me gay, Winchester? Well, you're one to talk!" Marcus screamed at him, tightening his hold around his neck.

Dean's right foot hit the wall repeatedly, as he was struggling for air.

"I think we're gonna decide who the gayest one is. Tonight." Marcus growled.

Dean struggled even more, praying that he didn't mean what he thought he meant.

Marcus released the tight hold on the boy's neck, giving Dean a little passage for air. Dean took the opportunity, gasping out in desperate need to fill his lungs.

Marcus spun Dean around and went to the poor kid's pants, tugging down.  
"No!" Dean yelled hoarsely, sounding broken already.

"Yes." Marcus contradicted, voice gruff, as he lowered Dean's pants down to his knees.

Dean heard the sound of a zipper lowering "No-o-o!" He sobbed, stomach twisted in knots. He screamed as he felt the large 12th grader enter him without any ceremony. _An agonizing scream._

At that moment, Marcus came to his senses and grabbed Dean's neck again, silencing him as much as he could. Marcus began moving.

Tears were running down Dean's face rapidly as he felt himself tearing. It felt like he was being ripped in half. He could feel the blood dripping down his legs at about a minute in and his body shook violently. He wanted to scream. To scream for help. He was dying. He was sure he had to be dying. The way he felt... He wanted to scream so loud, but he couldn't. All he could do was make those damned choked noises.

"Mm... Maybe you are a virgin..." Marcus mused above his pleasure and Dean's pain. "Not anymore..." He moaned.

Deans body racked with sobs. Silent sobs. He wanted to be dead. He wanted Marcus to kill him. He couldn't take it anymore, he just wanted out.

"Look who the gay one is now." Marcus growled. "Fuckin' fag, I know you like this!"

Dean shook his head side to side, and suddenly felt something he would never have suspected. Above all the horrible, agonizing pain, Dean felt a small spark that had stars going off behind his eyes. He felt his body crave more of that feeling.

What the HELL was wrong with him?! He didn't like this! He was getting raped! He did NOT like this! He shook his head again, but this time it was more about his own reaction. He felt it happen again. And again. And again. He just wanted it to stop...

Luckily, Dean felt the jock finish inside him. Marcus pulled out and kicked him to the ground. "Fucking slut!"

Just like that, when his throat was released, Dean was screaming out sobs. His whole body shook from pain and hurt and wrong. He felt so, so dirty. What had he become?

Marcus kicked him a couple of times before zipping up his pants and walking away.

Dean cradled himself on the cold, concrete ground. It hurt to move. Everything hurt. On the ground, he was sobbing hysterically. He just let himself get raped. What would his dad think of him? His son was already a fag, now he just got raped and didn't even fight back? He couldn't bear to see the look of disgust that his dad would give him. His first born, such a disappointment. And now he was just lying on the ground, crying like a five year old?! He had to get up. He had to walk it off, just like his dad always told him. 'Walk it off, son' he'd say when he'd get thrown into a wall by a poltergeist or injured by some stupid monster they were hunting. He just had to pretend this never happened, not let anybody see him like this.

His dad would be coming home later tonight, he could get back to normal by then. He just needed a shower. That'll get him straight. He just needed to walk it off...

Dean pulled up his pants, still lying on the ground, and used the brick wall to try and get up. Stray sobs made their way out of him as he slowly raised himself off of the ground.

It was painful to stand, and excruciating to walk, but, somehow, he had actually made it back to his motel room without breaking down. The first thing he did when he was in the small room was head to the shower. When he was getting ready to step in, he took off his shirt first. He traced the bruises that littered his chest and abdomen, hardly noticing the dull pain that spawned from them. The next thing he had to do he wished he could avoid. He held on to the waistband of his jeans and boxers. He pulled them down slowly as the horrible memory assaulted his conscious. He reached up to his neck as if the jock's hand were still there and swallowed.

Fresh tears stung his eyes as he was forced to take off his pants completely. When they were off, Dean tried to no avail to ignore the blood that stained the back of both his pants and boxers. The blood was mixed with something else.

What Dean did after staring at the stain was something that he hasn't done in a long time. He ran over to the toilet, lifted the lid and, with a heave, emptied the contents of his stomach, tears running down his face. He sat like that for a long time, even after he was done puking, and tried to reassess his oh so relevant life problem. One mistake he had made had him in this situation. Teased and bullied and... _Raped_...

Finally, after quite a long time, Dean got up and walked into the shower, which had been running since he had his clothes on. He felt distantly guilty for leaving wasting hot water.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with himself. How was he gonna clean himself up... Like that...? All he felt up to doing was letting the water run down his backside. Dean watched the clear water become tinted with red as the impact of what happened hit him full force. How was this going to affect his school life? It was already hell, but now with this floating around? He was ruined.

Words couldn't describe the way he felt at that moment. His head spun with all the consequences and he felt he would throw up again. Instead, he slowly slid down the shower, holding himself as his eyes flooded with tears. He grimaced in pain and shut his eyes tight when he made it to sitting in the tub. He hugged himself and cried in the ever-falling streams of water from the shower head, not even bothering to get up. Although, eventually, the water turned cold and he was compelled to get out of the shower.

He wrapped himself in a towel and picked up his dirty clothes, slowly making his way out if the bathroom.

Despite the dread, Dean knew he should observe the injury on his face, so he looked in the bathroom mirror. He glared at himself, hating who he saw staring back at him. Dean shook with rage and he pounded his fists against the counter.

After a few minutes, Dean finally retreated from the bathroom and began the expected task of getting through the rest of the day.

**(A/N) These stories are very hard to write, for anybody who is wondering, but I have a passion for them. Its inspiring. On a less deep and depressing note, I would very very much love reviews! I love feedback, whether it's constructive criticism or any future ideas, both of which I would VERY MUCH APPRECIATE, I thoroughly enjoy getting any form of response to my writing. And any ideas you may think of would help me out a bunch. I get writers block very easily... So if you have any ideas, seriously, feel free to express them! Okay, lastly, thank you sooo much for reading and I will try to write more of the story as fast as I can! **


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N) Alright, I finished this chapter last night, and it took me a while to finish because i seem to be making these chapters longer than usual. Now, this chapter contains very minor child abuse, but its still there, so be warned. **

**Thanks so much for reading!**

**Enjoy CHAPTER 2!**

Dean was laying in bed, had been for an hour or so, as a thought hit, shocking him out of his relaxed stupor. Sammy.

Dean shot out of bed, head whipping to the side to look at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was 5:45 pm, 45 minutes after Sam had asked him to pick him up. _Shit!_ Dean bolted out of his room, searching desperately for his keys. How could he have forgotten about his little brother? This was absolutely unacceptable on his part.

When he spotted his car keys on the counter, sitting beside his cellphone, he picked them both up and dialed 1 on speed dial. The phone rang three times, Dean counted, and that was when the line picked up.

"Hello?" The angelic voice said.

"Sammy. Oh, shit, Sammy, I'm so sorry, kid." Dean apologized, so relieved to hear his brothers voice. "I lost track of time, I feel so bad. I'm really, really sorry. Are you okay? Are you still at school?"

"Dean, relax..." Sam soothed, finding his reaction a bit obscure. "I'm fine. I'm still at school. I've been hanging out with some new friends. It's okay, Dean. There's no need to apologize."

Dean was biting back tears, but he didn't let it show through his voice. "I'm coming now, Sam. I'll be there really fast." Dean insisted, even though, in all reality, Sam was actually having fun and didn't notice his brother was late.

"Don't break the speeding laws this time, wouldya?" Sam replied, quirking a brow, using a somewhat whiney tone.

"I promise I'll be there soon," was all Dean said. "Be careful, Sammy. Don't go anywhere else"

"Dean, I'm FINE." Sam explained, trying to get through to his hypochondriac of a brother.

"Just don't go anywhere. I'll be there in 5 minutes." Dean stated.

Sam's eyes widened in shock. "_5 minutes_?" He exclaimed, but the line went dead. Dean hung up. Damn his overreactions. And damn his intolerance to Sam's bitching.

5 minutes later, Dean showed up in front of the school, just like he said he would. The older Winchester stepped out of his baby and walked briskly to meet his baby brother.

Sam saw Dean walking towards him in an surprising short amount of time that he ended their call.

As Dean got closer to him, Sam studied his brother's face. He looked beat to hell. Even more so then when he saw him after the final bell. Dean was limping, he noticed as he walked towards him, and the blood seemed to be drained from his face, making him alarmingly pale. Dean looked sickly and exhausted. There was also another thing about him. Sam couldn't put his finger on it.

When Dean approached Sam, he gave an outward huff.

"What the_ hell _happened to you?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

Dean stared back at his little brother, a more evident version of the unidentifiable emotion showing on his face. Sam recognized it that time.

_Pain. _

Not "got shot" pain, or "need to get stitched" pain. This was much worse. It was an underlying hurt that had been freshly buried deep inside the depths of Dean's memories. "I have no idea what your talking about." Dean said immediately, acting as if he looked, felt, completely normal.

"You look like shit." Sam noted, not meaning it as an insult, only saying it in concern.

"Thanks," dean retorted.

"I'm serious, Dean. What happened?"

"Nothing happened, Sammy." Dean assured, trying not to sound desperate.

Sam gave his brother his typical bitch-face. He was getting frustrated.

"Let's just go home." Dean offered, and Sam looked at him for a little while longer, then nodded.

The brothers walked back to the impala, quickly hopping into the seats. Sam was sitting before Dean was, and he saw the way Dean winced when he sat.

'Enjoy your fuck-date' ran through his head before he could stop it. Sam instantly shoved the thought from his mind, forgetting the way Dean was acting. It wasn't true. That was impossible.

"I think I got on the team." Sam said, attempting to change the subject of his inner thoughts.

Dean turned to look at his little brother, lips pulling into a bright smile. He ruffled his brother's hair. "Sammy, that's fantastic." Dean beamed.

Sam fixed his hair when Dean pulled back. "And a lot of the other people were really good, too. The coach said I should come to next practice." Sam informed, sort of bragging, but he didn't care. He was happy.

"That's my boy." Dean boomed, thrumming on the steering wheel in delight.

"Guess you were wrong. I got it, man. I really am a Winchester!" Sam said mockingly.

Dean thought back to the times he said that to Sam. Saying he wasn't a Winchester because he was being a wuss. His stomach dropped.

"Yeah.." He said, nodding once. He didn't mean to sound half-hearted. He was still smiling, and he hoped that was enough to convince.

Sam noticed he had struck something. He stopped smiling.

"Dean, what's wrong with you?" Sam asked exasperatedly.

"I told you that I'm f-" Dean started, but not before Sam cut him off.

"_Fine_, yeah, I know. Tell me one time when 'fine' didn't mean 'something's not good'."

Dean sighed.

"Did something happen after school? When you walked home?"

Dean shivered at how dead on the question was. "Nope," he lied.

Sam gave him a look that said 'a little redundant right now'.

"It was cold, Sam. I think I coulda' gotten sick." Dean offered.

Sam considered this. His brother was hiding something, definitely hiding something, and he was going to figure it out. Just... Not right now... Soon.

The impala approached the parking area for the motel and Dean spoke before parking his baby in the spot closest to their door. "You don't have to worry about me, Sammy."

"That's not the way you making it seem," Sam stated, not caring that he was sounding blunt, "and it's Sam." He added.

Dean rolled his eyes and grinned before he got out of the car and walked inside their room, Sam following closely behind.

****

Just as Dean suspected, John was late at coming home. It was 8 before he heard the key jingling in the lock and the door opening.

"Hey, dad." He said, walking out of the kitchen area where Sam was doing his homework and he was cooking dinner. "How was the hunt?"

"Fine," his father replied gruffly, quickly making his way into the motel room.

Dean saw Sam's head pop out of the cleared doorway that lead to the coach area. When Dean looked over his shoulder from watching his father set his bags down, he saw Sam's eyes briefly study the elder Winchester before he snuck back to finish off the last few questions on the algebra worksheet.

Dean a hand through his hair and headed back to the stove where he was boiling water to make spaghetti, Sam's favorite. As he was pouring in the box of uncooked noodles in the pot, plucking one from going into the water and handing it to Sammy, who took it and snapped it with his teeth, crunching without really acknowledging, John walked into the kitchen.

"Grab me a beer, Dean." He asked his son, who complied immediately with a 'yes sir.'

Dean walked a step to the fridge and, after swinging the door open, bent over to reach for the beer bottles that were at the back of the first shelf. When he had a bottle in his grasp, John put his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean flinched back and dropped the beer bottle.

The loud shatter jolted Sam out of his reading, and his head shot up to observe the confused John and somewhat disoriented Dean.

"What the hell, son?" John exclaimed in concern.

"S-sorry, sir." Dean hated himself for stuttering. He kneeled down in attempt to clean up the mess.

"What was that?" His father asked, his voice a little softer than before.

"I don't- nothing, dad. It was nothing." Dean said, lying through his teeth. He was shaking. Hard. He couldn't seem to get back under control.

Sam read the situation and got up from his seat. He ran to grab paper towels and used them to help his older brother with the beer.

John shook his head, not understanding his son's reaction. Nonetheless, John grabbed an unbroken beer bottle, and made his way back to the couch.

When Sam was helping Dean with the mess, he tried not to notice his shaking. Dean was a mess. A mess that was cleaning a mess.

"Dean, it's okay. It's just a beer." Sam said calmingly.

Dean couldn't help but feel thankful for what Sam just did. He blamed Dean's current actions on the beer, even though that's improbable. Very improbable. Despite what Dean thought, he gave a nod.

Sam yelped, making Dean look up at him. He saw blood dripping down his little brother's finger, and a piece of glass sticking out as well. And with the alcohol... Dean knew that had to hurt.

He stood up and ushered Sam to the sink. He turned on the faucet and had Sam run the cut over the water, right after he carefully picked out the glass. Sam hissed in pain when the water hit the newly formed cut.

This was the moment Dean was supposed to say something like: "would you rather have peroxide?" But he was silent. No, not silent, he seemed to be in some sort of trance. A fitful trance. Sam looked at Dean's face, observed his eyes and traced them to where he was looking.

It was the water. He was staring at the water. 'What's the matter' Sam thought. It was a heavy stream, slightly tinted red with a little blood? What was the big deal? Dean had seen blood in his life, more than his fair share, so why get queasy now?

What Sam didn't see was the steady shaking getting worse and the tears welling up in his older brother's eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean snapped back and looked at his brother, "y'alright, Sammy?" He asked, but he could tell he was distracted by whatever was going on in his head.

"I've had worse, Dean." He reminded his brother, giving him a reassuring half-smile half-grimace.

Dean's lips pulled into a tight line and he ran to get some bandages. When he came back, he helped Sam wrap his finger.

After word, he told Sam to get back on his homework and continued to clean up the mess of the beer bottle. When doing so, he reflected on what he did.

As he finished gathering the pieces of glass, and wiping up the beer, he put his hands to his face, wallowing in his own stupidity. His own weakness.

At that moment, Sam got up, finally finished with his homework. He saw Dean. He looked like he was... Grieving.

Sam wanted to touch him. Pat him on the shoulder, telling him it will be okay. Grab him by the wrist just like when he was little. Give his older brother a hug because that's what Dean would do for him.

But Sam feared a repeat performance, which would make everything even worse. So he spoke, craving interaction but knowing too much would be... Hectic.

"Y'okay, Dean?" Sam asked softly. Of course he wasn't okay!

A simple question just so hard to answer. So hard to muster up the strength of acting through this. Again.

It was silent for a while. Dean could hear the faint sound of bubbling over his thoughts. The spaghetti!

Dean rushed back over to the stove. "Shit!" He hissed, taking the pot and pouring the contents into a strainer that he already had set up in the sink.

Dean saw the over-cooked noodles sticking to the bottom of the pot, and he was so mad at himself.

Dean took the faucet into the pot to break up the pathetic excuse he called 'dinner.' As he was filling it back up, he tried to prop it up. He wasn't hardly thinking when he reached to the bottom of the pot and-

"Ah!" Dean yelped, processing exactly what he did and how fucking stupid he was. He touched the bottom of a pot that was on a burner for more than it should have. The pain had shocked him and he could see his palm turn red.

He had only noticed afterward that he had accidentally dropped the pot, as a reflex, he guessed, and now their was over-cooked spaghetti and tap water spilt among the floor.

Sam sprung forward and picked up the pot from the floor. He put it back on the stove and helped pick up the scattered noodles and throw them away.

Just then, John came through the door. "What happe-" he started, but stopped himself when he took in what was in front of him. "Dammit, Dean." He sighed, running a hand through his hair and down his face. He was just getting past buzz on the couch.

"S-sorry, sir." Dean apologized softly.

"What happened this time?" His father asked exasperatedly.

Before Dean could respond, Sam stepped in, "it was just an accident. Dean didn't mean to, he was cleaning and he forgot about dinner, and-"

"Cleaning up the mess that he made." John countered.

"But-" Sam started when Dean spoke over him.

"Sam, it's my fault. Just let it go." That made Sam stare at his older brother.

"But-" Sam said once again, but not before he was cut off for the second time.

"Sam, go to your room. I guess I can... figure out dinner." His father told his youngest strictly, even if his voice was a little slurred from the alcohol.

"_But_-"

"NOW, Sam!" John was fed up with both of his boys. But Sam didn't do anything bad, so he shouldn't punish him. _Dean_, on the other hand...

Sam sulked, but, nonetheless, went to his and dean's separate room, stomping away.

Once Sam was our of sight, John advanced toward his son, who was still picking up the second mess he had made in that hour.

John reached down and grabbed Dean by the shirt, pulling enough to make his oldest face him. "Why is it that all you do is mess things up?" He growled.

Dean stared at his father, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Obviously not, because you keep doing it!"

Dean looked down at the ground, ashamed.

"Look at me when I talk to you!" John jerked his Dean's head up and released him. John lifted his right hand and used it to smack his son on the back of the neck. Hard. "Disrespectful little..." He muttered, but trailed off. "Clean this mess up, imma drink. Make your brother ANOTHER dinner... And... You gonna waste my money... And, keep outta my sight. I don't wanna look at you..." John slurred, a little drunk. When Dean didn't move, obviously in shock, John pushed him on the shoulder, "NOW, DEAN!" With that, Dean was up and getting more food, and John was hurrying to the fridge and grabbing a six-pack, then making his way back to the couch that he would most likely pass out on.

Dean looked in the cabinet, searching for something to feed Sammy. He didn't want to acknowledge what his father told him, did to him. He was hurting too much. He couldn't have that on top of it all. After a half a minute, he saw a microwaveable container of Mac and cheese.

He decided to make it for his little brother. It took three minutes, so, when the thing was done, he got it out and took it to Sam and his' room.

Dean knocked when he approached the door, and he heard a soft 'come in.'

Dean opened the door, "hey, Sammy... Want some Mac and cheese...?" He was hoping his brother would say yes. He felt really bad about ruining his favorite dish.

"Uh, sure. Thanks, Dean."

Dean walked in and handed the small bowl to him.

"Where's yours?" Sam asked.

"Ah, I'm not hungry, Sammy." Dean replied. He probably wouldn't be able to keep anything down, anyway.

"It's Sam, and you need to eat, Dean." Sam gave him a look that usually pissed Dean off. But now it just saddened him.

"I'm not hungry, honest." Dean swore, lifting his hands up to express his point.

"Shit, Dean." Sam gasped when he caught sight of one of his older brother's hand. "You burned yourself. That looks pretty bad, Dean." Sam got up and walked towards his him.

"S'nothing, man. Really, it's... Ah, god, _ow_..." Dean hissed as Sam takes his wrist and observes his palm, running over it tentatively.

"C'mon, Dean. We're getting bandages." Dean would have protested, but Sam wouldn't have it. He just lead Dean to the bathroom and began to take care of his hand.

After only five minutes, the youngest Winchester had his brother's burn wrapped up and healing in a sufficient bandage.

"There, good as new." Sam said finally, almost patting the palm. But he stopped himself.

"Yeah, yeah..." Dean sighed, not caring much, but grateful for his brother's nurse-mode, "you still have food in our room and its getting cold, so go. I didn't make it for nothin'."

"Yeah, whatever, c'mon." Sam said dryly, and the two snuck back to their room.

When they reached there, Sam finished eating and Dean laid in his bed.

About an hour later, Dean decided to get dressed in his sleep clothes. He turned his back to Sam to gather his sleep clothes from his duffle.

"What the hell is that, Dean?" Sam asked, and Dean could feel Sam's wide eyes resting on him.

His head snapped back, "what's what?" He replied, acting oblivious.

"That... On your neck..." Sam clarified, staring at the red hand print that bore on the back of Dean's neck.

"I..." Dean started, turning fully and walking back, putting a hand to the mark. It distantly stung when touched.

"That wasn't there before..." He could see realization form in Sam's eyes, "Did dad... Hit you?!"

"Sam..." Dean sighed, "it was nothing. I'm fine. He was drunk, too. It's not his fault."

"_Dean_!" Sam exclaimed. "You're joking! It is TO his fault. He hit you, don't act like that's okay!"

"Sammy, relax..." Dean soothed, placing his good hand on his brothers shoulder.

Sam took the hand in his, looking at dean. "You spilt two things. Dad can't just hit you for that!"

"I wasn't anything, can you just let it go?" Dean stomach was going sour. He didn't want to hear about this.

"Dean-"

"No, Sam. C'mon, it's getting late, get ready for bed." Dean ordered.

"But, Dean!"

"I'm going to bed." Dean announced, and he plopped down on his bed, still in his day clothes, and turned off the lamp, leaving the room in darkness.

Sam huffed a loud and tired sigh, and it was 30 minutes before he was ready to sleep in his bed like Dean. He was still pissed, and John was gonna be sorry, but that could wait until the morning.

Right now, the boys slept. Actually, Sam slept. Dean wasn't quite there. Instead of slumber, Dean was trapped in his memories, vaguely aware of the tears down his cheeks.

_It didn't happen... It didn't happen... It didn't happen..._

**(A/N) Yeah, that was sad... POOR DEANIE! UGH, okay, recovering from that, i would love to hear what you guys think, so PLEASE review! Thanks for reading! Next chap'll be up when its done, i promise!**


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N) Hello lovely people. I got a new chapter up. And it's been quite a while, too. Sorry about that. **

**First, I need to acknowledge something. THE REVIEWS. I am absolutely BLOWN AWAY by the things you have been saying about my story. How I put emotion in my writing... I do? THANK YOU. I made three people cry, and I'll honestly say, I have... mixed feelings about that. I feel like the fact that I made people cry shouldn't be something that makes me happy... hm... Oh well. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU TTHHAANNKK YYOOUU to all the people who read and review my things, and think so highly of it. And a HUGE thank you to all the tips! I have acknowledged that I need to slow down in my writing, but I'm not sure if this chapter will be an improvement. Do heed that I have a bad habit of doing that when I have so much more juicier and interesting things up ahead. That's good either way you look at it. Besides the way that is reading this chapter... sorry.**

**So, like I have been variously repeating, this chapter will probably seem quick. I promise you the next one won't be, though. **

**Thank you so very much for reading my stuff! **

**Enjoy chapter three!**

That morning was grey, looking like it would rain but not quite there. As usual, Sam Winchester woke up first, as he was always the one up and ready for school before his older brother.

Sam got out of his bed and walked over to the other bed, shaking Dean's shoulder to wake him.

Dean woke with a start, jumping at the feel of a hand and jolting out of his unconsciousness.

Sam noted this. "Relax, Dean. Jus' me." The youngest Winchester studied his older brother briefly, but he turned swiftly, in attempt to encourage him to move along, "we gotta get ready for school."

Dread curled in Dean's intestines as he processed his little brother's words. He REALLY didn't want to go to school today. He would do anything to stay away from there. But what would Sam think if he stayed home? He would KNOW something is wrong.

Dean groaned and rolled in his bed, doing that because that's what he'd usually do. Deep inside his mind, he was screaming at himself. Different voices with completely different points. His utter weakness was one, one that really got to him. His fear, too. Apprehension of what we would meet at school. In turn, his self-hatred would backfire at him and, the part that sounded remarkably like John Winchester, would tell him to man the hell up. He tried to ignore the voices, attempted to dismiss them, but he could feel them there. Taking up space. Burdens. Threats.

They were him. As much as he tried to deny it, they were, I'm fact, him.

Eventually, he got out of his bed and got ready, ignoring the sickness he felt getting worse and worse.

"Sammy, open up!" Dean shouted, banging on the bathroom door.

"I just got out of the shower," came the muffled explanation, almost sounding incredulous.

"I changed your diapers for years, man. It's nothing I haven't seen." Dean paused, listening for a response. When he didn't get one, he added, "I won't look, Sammy. I just need to brush my teeth. Hurry up."

After a few seconds, the door opened. A puff of steam poured out of the doorway, and a wet Sam stood in front of Dean. He looked irritated. And almost embarrassed. All he was in was a dingy towel that was wrapped around his waist. Sam was muscular. More than a 13 year old particularly should be. "Make it quick." He said, giving his brother a look.

"Fine." Dean replied, slipping past Sam and into the small, steamy bathroom.

Dean grabbed his toothbrush and began to brush his teeth. In the foggy mirror, he could see Sam standing there, occasionally shifting his clean clothes on the counter or staring at the ceiling. The awkward in the room was definite.

Sam hadn't been modest about this kind of stuff before. Dean had seen it all. The kid was never shy, especially not in front of him, and, when he was real young, there had been times when he would run around naked, screaming. That was normal Sammy behavior, or at least back then, and Dean was surprised at how much he had changed.

Dean bent over and spat into the sink, silently announcing that he was finished using the bathroom. Sam ushered his older brother out, hardly letting Dean finish his quip.

"Don't take up too much time in there, Samantha."

The door was slammed in his face.

Dean grinned behind the shut door. "But don't slack on your make-up. You wanna be nice and pretty for-"

Dean smile faded and he cleared his throat, deciding not to finish what he was saying. He walked away briskly.

Not very long after, Sam was out, dressed and ready to go. "Dean, c'mon, we have 15 minutes to get to school. We still have to walk, ya know..."

Their dad didn't want them leaving the impala on school grounds. He loved that car more than his soul, and he'd be damned if anything happened to it.

So, on account of Sam's constant reasoning, Dean was out of the door with his brother, the pair making their way to Dean's nightmare.

At five minutes in, Sam was shivering and just knowing they would be late. He gazed around and found a leeway. "Hey, Dean. Look, it's an alley. It'll take us around to our area, Man. We can cut at least 5 minutes." Sam was walking into the alley way before Dean got the chance to speak.

Dean looked to the alley way Sam was referring to and his breath caught in his throat. "S-Sam, No." He forced out.

Sam turned back to his brother, "what?" He asked, looking at Dean oddly. "What's the matter?"

"Sam, get back here." Dean ordered. He couldn't go through there. He couldn't. It was the crime scene. The haunted house. The area where he died. That's something he couldn't face.

"Dean, _come on_, we're gonna be late, we can g-"

"I said _no_, Sam!" Dean barked.

Sam was surprised, but he quickly recovered, and, with a huff, he spoke. "_What_ is you're problem lately? Seriously, man, you-"

"Sam... I-"

"No, Dean. You are _not_ fine. I don't know what you are, but it's definitely not _fine_." Sam was over Dean doing this. He had to understand. He would, now and forever, always hate the word 'fine.'

"Sam, get over here." he ordered, "We'll be late."

His little brothers eyes widened in misunderstanding, "Not if we go this way!" Sam argued.

"SAM, NOW!" Dean roared, everything about his stance demanding.

Sam was truly startled, staring at his brother in shock. Dean never raised his voice like that, and especially not at him.

He could have sworn he saw something snap in his brother. Not the kind that happens when you're overridden with anger. No. Not even close. It was the kind that you see in a victim, desperately trying to pretend nothing was amiss, but slowly finding out believing that would be impossible. A snap of desperation. _A snap of sorrow_. Breaking the comfort he set up in his mind.

For all Sam was worth, he couldn't make sense of Dean's behavior at that moment. Actually, try the past few days.

Nevertheless, after a few seconds, Sam walked back to his brother's side, pouting indignantly. Dean almost cried with relief. Of course, Sam wouldn't let him live it down when they were late that day, but right now, Dean didn't care.

Dean had just left his locker, getting ready to walk to the algebra classroom. Maybe he could convince Ms. Ejrack to not mark him tardy. She had always liked him.

Dean made his way to the locked classroom door, knocking and hoping his teacher would answer.

When she did, she actually seemed surprised. "Dean." She said, "you are late." She didn't say it menacingly. Only stated it.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again."

Dean respected the teacher. She was very intelligent yet very calm and modest. She was also sarcastic, but not in a snarky way. It seemed Dean was the only one who actually did treat her with respect. All of the other students made fun of her thick Arabic accent. Whenever she spoke, there were at least one who was mocking her. Dean was the only one who acted polite.

Her eyebrows furrowed, "eh-What happened to your face?"

Dean guessed she was referring to the fading bruises. This wasn't the first time he came in with a slight injury on his face or arms. It was just because of Derek. Ms. Ejrack probably thought it was from some kind of domestic abuse.

"Uh, I got in a fight with my brother. You know how that can be." Dean smiled, shrugging it off.

Ms. Ejrack returned a weary smile. "Yeah..." She agreed, obviously not believing a word he said. She always had a way of reading Dean. She knew something wasn't right. He had a look in his eyes. Foggy and distant. It was alarming. "Come in, Dean. Take a seat."

"Thanks, ma'am." Dean said, relieved that he wasn't going to be marked tardy.

When Dean entered the room, he heard a soft chuckle from somewhere in the mass of students. His eyes riveted to the blonde, who was sitting in the far left. Derek gave a knowing, devilish smile.

Dean's eyes snapped back to what was in front if him, and he swiftly made his way to a seat.

"Dean?" Ms. Ejrack questioned when she saw him setting his books down. "Why are you not sitting in your own seat?"

'Because it's next to my tormentor' dean thought bitterly, but he played it off. "Sorry, ma'am. I'll get back to there." Reluctantly, Dean picked his books back up and walked to his assigned seat.

Ms. Ejrack watched her student carefully. She knew Dean. Well, at least better than most teachers did. An that account, she also knew that she was the only help he had. That was something she decided early on, when the boy showed up with bruises and distant eyes that screamed 'pain.' As difficult to conceive as it was, it had gotten worse. Her eyes softened as she looked up and down his form briefly. He looked haggard.

Once Dean sat down, he winced. The pain flared up his spine. Apparently, Derek noticed.

A minute later, a balled up piece of paper was thrown his way. Everything in him told him not to open it, but, albeit, he did anyway.

When opened, the picture was very clear. It was him. Bent over. And another guy. The poorly drawn picture also had a caption.

_'DEAN WINCHESTER: _

_MAN-WHORE'_

There was a note, too.

_'Sore from last night, fag?_

_-D'_

Dean immediately crumpled the paper back up. He put his head down, the note held tightly in his fist. He was biting back tears. 'Am I really a whore?' He thought.

He heard the sound of Derek's soft laughter. This pushed him closer to the edge of tears. _'But I didn't want it... I didn't like it. Oh, god, why did this have to happen?' _

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. He slowly raised his head, deciding to mentally return to his class.

He watched Ms. Ejrack grab the phone and speak. "Hello..." She greeted, and, after several moments, her faced laced with concern, "you need him?...may I ask why?...em, all right...thank you...goodbye." She hung up the phone, and called out, "Dean Winchester. You're needed in the office."

Dean stared. "I am?" He asked.

"Yes, they just called now. They said go to guidance office." She replied, her accent sounding quite relevant. One of the students repeated her mockingly. She paid no attention.

Dean looked worried. "Um, okay..." He got up from his seat, still clutching the note.

As he walked, Ms. Ejrack stopped him, pressing up and not speaking above a quiet mutter. "If they get you in trouble, I will be there to bail you out. Do not worry, Dean." She smiled slyly, as if he and her were part of a team. She winked.

This made Dean grin. Almost laugh. It was the most genuine happiness he'd had in... A long time.

She really did care about him. She knew that the quiet, young boy was going through a lot. And that he was fighting through it. She just knew. And she was happy to protect him.

"Thank you," he smiled, and walked the rest of the way to the door, grabbing the door knob and turning it slowly. When he was in the other side, he swing back carefully, making closing the door quiet.

In spite of his worry, he did walk briskly. As much as he was fearing why, he wanted to know as soon as possible.

He soon found himself at the head of the school, the office. Dean turned, and he glanced at the sign that read: "guidance"

Huffing a breath, he walked past the push-able doors and into the small room.

Once in, he observed. He hadn't been in the area yet, and it wasn't the most attractive looking place. It was a bland white, with cheesy "inspirational" posters plastered unevenly everywhere. There was a woman sitting by a desk in the front area. He approached her.

"Excuse me, miss." He said politely.

She looked up at him, not bothering to peer through her small reading glasses. "What do you need?" She asked, almost monotonously.

"Um, I was called down here." Dean explained.

She looked at him, her eyes hard. "Don't you think it would be sufficient to give me your name, then?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." He smiled, a little embarrassed. She didn't smile back. "My name is Dean Winchester."

She looked at him, adjusting her glasses so she could observe. "And who's your guidance counselor?" She asked tiredly.

"I don't know." He said, honest.

"Well, you think I know?" She replied slowly, every word sounding ruder than the next.

"I-" Dean started, but a voice from behind him cut him off.

"_Shannon?"_ A male voice said.

Dean turned, and, when he caught sight of who owned the voice, he became awestruck. This man was tall, much taller than himself, with short buzzed dark blonde hair and grey eyes that sparkled. He looked at Dean, and Dean almost squinted at the brightness of his teeth when he smiled.

"Hi. You must be Dean." The man said, "Dean Winchester?"

Dean clamped his jaw back shut the second he realized it was agape. "Uh... Yeah, that's me."

"I'm Mr. Reed." He replied, " it's a pleasure to meet you."

Dean grinned, "the pleasure's all mine." _It really was_.

God, he was so attractive. This eyes, his teeth. Aw man, what Dean would... _Wait_. Wait, NO. Not Dean. He didn't think that! He liked girls. GIRLS. Female! He looked around for one to prove his point. When he glanced back, he realized the only woman was the desk lady, and he figured she wasn't the best subject.

Mr. Reed smiled at the boy, and he called to the door behind him. "Priscilla!" He shouted. "It's Dean Winchester!"

A few seconds later, a blonde woman walked out of the doorway. She was thin and short, Mr. Reed towering over her. She couldn't have been older than 30.

"Hey," She smiled, "I'm Ms. Cooper. I'm the guidance counselor here at the school." She spoke softly, and had a nice smile. Not as nice as Mr. Reed's...

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Cooper." He grinned back.

"This is Mr. Reed, he's my assistant counselor." She continued introducing.

_'Who needs an assistant counselor?'_ "Yeah, We've met." Dean flashed a brilliant smile to the man.

Ms. Cooper observed the teen for a few moments, but quickly continued, "Come into my office, would you, Dean?" She asked politely.

"Yes, ma'am."

When the three entered the room, two sat down, and they invited Dean to sit as well.

The room was quiet for a while. Mr. Reed sensed uneasiness, so he decided to start conversation."You have a brother, right, Dean? Sam Winchester?" He asked.

"Uh, yes, sir." Dean replied, "This isn't about him, is it? Did he, uh... Say something?"

"Oh, no. Not at all." Mr. Reed reassured.

Dean relaxed a little at that.

"I just wanted to congratulate him on the soccer team." He explained, "I'm a volunteer coach. You're brother has a lot of potential."

"Yeah, Sammy's Sammy." Dean replied lightly. "He's always been good in school."

There was another moment of silence that dragged on for an awkward amount of time.

"So... Um," Dean started, "why exactly am I here?"

Ms. Cooper sighed, "It's... It's about the predicament with Marcus Hardin. You know him?"

Dean flinched at the mention of the name, but he played it off as a shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah, I... Know him." He swallowed.

"And you got in a fight with him?"

Dean almost snorted. He wouldn't call it a fight. It was more like a hit and a... "Yeah..." Dean said quietly.

Mr. Reed jumped in. "We just need to get your side of the story. Marcus came to us and explained what happened. We told him, before we took any drastic measures, that we would get the whole explanation."

"_Drastic measures_?" Dean repeated.

"Uh, yes."

"And against whom?" He wanted to sound as professional as possible, try to convince these people he deserved truth.

"Dean, we just want to hear your side. How you tell it." Said Ms. Cooper. "Then we can make a fair decision."

"_Easy,"_ Dean breathed, "he called me some names I didn't like, I called him a name he didn't like and he punched me square in the face. Simple as that."

"Hm. That's not exactly how we heard it."

Was she accusing Dean of something? "Oh, really? How did _you _hear it?" He didn't care that he sounded rude. Something wasn't right, he didn't have time to worry about his tone.

"I agree on the name calling, but there are a few other things." Said Ms. Cooper grimly,"Marcus had insisted he was acting in self-defense. He... _He said you had molested him." _

Dean paled. "He said WHAT?!"

"Dean, we just want to know if its true." Said Mr. Reed, attempting to reason with the teenager, " Even just a little bit, did you?"

"No!" Dean shouted. "Oh, no!" He couldn't believe Marcus said that. The guy that fucking raped him told others the he was molested by him! Everything about it was painfully wrong. "He- I would never do that. He lied!" Dean was panicking now, trying to convince them it wasn't true.

"You aren't the only one who denies it, Dean." Explained Mr. Reed, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. "Mr. Jackman insisted it didn't happen. That you wouldn't do that. But... I can't say the same about the students..."

Dean blinked. Of course they would say he did that to Marcus. They all hated him. And this would just make him seem gayer than usual. "Please, I didn't do that. I would never. You_ have_ to believe me!"

The two counselors hesitated.

Dean put his head in his hands. If they called his dad, he would... Oh, god, this is insane. Sam would find out... There was no way out of this. Every path would end up fucked.

"Mr. Reed, Ms. Cooper, please! I'm begging you! Blame me, but _please._ Don't tell my family!"

Mr. Reed stuck out his arms, elevating slightly as if Dean needed to be kept at a certain boundary. "Easy, son. Calm down."

Dean flinched when he was called 'son.' He gave the man a reprieveful look, a glare. He was only now aware of how much he hated to be referred to as that. It upset him in ways that were less than clear.

Mr. Reed noticed the tension that the young man inflicted, and he frowned.

"I... Don't call me that,"

Ms. Cooper spoke up, "Dean. We need you to calm down. We've heard your side, is there anything more?"

Dean blanched, looking down on the ground. "No," he lied, "that's it."

Both adults looked unconvinced, but they seemed to reluctantly dismiss it.

"Will you see to this not happening again?" She pressed.

Dean just nodded. There was a pause. "Um... Are we done- Can I leave now?"

"Uh..." Mr. Reed looked at the floor right and left, then at Dean, "sure, I think you can head back to class."

Dean voiced deepened in seriousness. "You won't tell my family about this... Will you?"

"Not unless the problem... Persists" answered Ms. Cooper, and Dean took that as a cue to get up from the chair.

When getting up, Dean looked himself down. He noticed the crumpled piece of paper that was still held tight in he fist. Had he really been holding it this entire time?

"Thank you, Dean," and those were their words of departure.

"Happy to help," dean muttered as he turned to walk out of the door. He glanced at the small recycling bin by the wall and took his opportunity. He threw the balled-up paper in the bin with resentment, quickly making the rest of the way out of the small office.

Dean greeted the desk-lady on the way out, but she just grunted in reply. Dean recovered and left the damn guidance office, slowly making his way back to his class.

When he arrived back at the room, Ms. Ejrack gave him an unsure glance. He returned a reassuring look, trying to state that nothing was wrong. Once again, she didn't seem to be convinced. This would be hard to shake off of her.

The rest of the class was a drag. Dean did his best to ignore the bully that sat next to him, as hard as it was.

When the bell rung for a locker break, Dean sat up slowly. He really didn't want to think about why he had to be careful when sitting and standing. He just got up and walked along side the swarm of people that were doing as he was. That included Derek.

He didn't do anything to the smaller boy until he was out of sight of Ms. Ejrack. He knew she wouldn't take kindly, even tolerably, to any harm, in the slightest, against the boy.

It was a different story, however, once they reached outside of the room. Yes, they. Derek had been rearing Dean just as soon as he had gotten up after him.

Without hesitation, Derek shoved him forward. Dean unintentionally lurched, but caught himself on the wall. He twisted around. Derek laughed.

"Scared, Deanie?" He chuckled.

Dean glanced around at all the kids surrounding them. Hardly any even bothered to look. One just passed between them, leisurely walking to his locker. The ones who caught sight of the domination just huffed and walked away. Dean felt sick.

Dean backed into open space. "Look, I don't want any trouble..."

"Too bad," he spat back, and the next thing he did was push the Winchester onto the ground.

Well, not straight on the ground. Dean landed on a couple of unexpected people's backsides as he clambered to the floor.

Oh, god. When he finally landed, it didn't suit him well. Pain wise, anyway. Ache sparked up his spine as he landed... _Ass first. _

Dean exclaimed with surprise and anguish. His back arched towards the ground more and, with a grimace, he was soon lying down, his hips raised, and nothing else, desperately trying to relieve the pain.

He hissed as he quickly made his way into an almost-half-sitting position. His face flushed in humiliation and dread.

The bully's face twisted in hilarity. He covered his mouth and let out a loud laugh. "I was just joking around earlier, but..." He began laughing again, "but-but you actually... _wow!"_ Derek squinted his eyes and spoke inquisitively. "You really are a whore."

Dean shook his head, biting back heavy tears that pooled in his eyes. He couldn't bare to be around any longer. Carefully, he stood up on wobbly legs, long since forgetting the throbbing pain, and bolted. He had to get away from this. He hardly thought. He just knew he had to run.

Derek didn't even try to chase him. "You can't run from me, fag! You'll never run from me!"

_And he was right. _

**(A/N) sorry it ended sorta abruptly... and way too quickly! I'll be working on my pace, you can count on that. Please review and tell me what you think! I've been spoiled with some really good ones, so even kill my buzz, if you want to! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! You're all gorgeous and I love ya! Next chappy'll be up soon... enough! Until then, my friends! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Im sorry, I have to delay the next chapter because of... well... a lot of things. **

**This is not a new chapter, just an update to say that Im still breathing and I'm seeing all of your feedback, all the reviews, Ive just havent been writing. Just now, the doc for my next chapter for this story, that i was almost done with, mind you, has just been deleted somehow. I dont have ANYTHING to back it up, and I am so FREGGIN upset right now! **

**Now, since all of my week's hard work has spontaneously dissapeared, I have to start ALL OVER AGAIN!**

**I was going to post it last sunday, I had underestimated the amount of work, so I could give a birthday present to Lilly! On that note, i am going to use your ideas. Happy birthday, Hun! Happy LATE birthday...**

**Im going to try and rewrite it but it will take EVEN MORE tim and, for that, i really REALLY apologize. It's frustrating the hell out of me, and Im so screwed, so theres my excuse for next chapter to REALLy suck.**

**Anyway, thanks for putting up with my shananigans and my awful writing schedule. Oh, and THANKS FOR READING! **


	5. Chapter 5

**(A/N) hey everyone. I'm super sorry about my lateness. I'm an extremely horrible procrastinator, and I'm really sorry if my story is becoming drab. I need some new found interest to continue.**

**You guys, the fandoms (or should I say 'phandom') are sucking me in with a dark temptation! I need help, OH NOOOO!**

**Alright, its okay! I'm working on my fics for you, don't worry! Although Phantom of the Opera is calling out to me, I'll stay strong... but just one poto story on my page, okay?**

**Anyway. **

**I had the awful mishap of my new chapter being deleted, so I'm gonna say now that this one will be short and sort of uneventful. But its setting up for conflict, so don't worry your beautiful heads! :)**

**Please review and tell me if I'm doing anything wrong or inform me on what I need to work on. That'll help and greatly encourage me. Its amazing how reviews can make me so pumped!**

**So I wanna apologize again for my lack of updates... Ive been distracted with work and school and poto and things...**

**13 year olds have lotsa things to do... And did you know I'm thirteen? Haha, kinda a misconception based on the potential and themes and... not to pat myself on the back but... intellect that I have in my writing. **

**Who knew that 13 year olds can ACTUALLY write decently?! I sure didn't! **

**Yeah I don't act my age... I'm pretty sure I could get into a club if I set my mind to it.**

**On another note, let this gruesomely late, awfully short chapter BEGIN!**

Dean ran. Mechanically, all of his energy coming from fear. Fueled by absolute terror, long since forgetting the sharp ache in a place that made him want to cry.

He distantly thought of sitting down, or perhaps running into a bathroom, so he could cry. If he were in public, he would be even more embarrassed, and Derek could catch up. He guessed the same thing could happen in the boys' bathroom, so that was scratched off the list as well.

He wanted to let it out. He felt, if he could just cry (like a small child... His dad's voice came back again) then he could continue later. He felt like he was about to burst, and just wished he could sit in dark and cold solitude so he can scream and bat around.

But, no. He couldn't.

Stop thinking about it... Because...

'My weak son,' mocked his dad's voice, 'my first born... Shameful fag. Can't even stand on his two feet.'

The voice berated him. Dean ran faster, pushed it all away, not even aware of his surroundings as he bolted to prove his strength. If he kept on running, he could convince his dad that he was tough enough. Look how strong he is.

Run. Run. Just run.

He hoped stupidly his dad could see.

And his father's voice in his head would just shut up.

Run. Run.

Running. Running.

BANG!

Dean hit something solid, but not like wall or anything. It was... Softer.

Before Dean could think clearly, he was assaulted with pain. He fell back, once again landing on his back side.

"Fuck!" He heard through his haze of agony.

Then there was loud crashing, but he wasn't moving anymore.

He was on the ground, still.

Confusion took the better of him and he looked up.

He heard a pained hissing and grunting before his eyes could focus on the scene in front of him.

"Watch the hell your going!" Growled a female voice, angry and accusing and pained.

Dean's eyes cleared its fog on a girl against blue chipping lockers. Her brown eyes burned holes into him. Her teeth were bared into a grimace and she was yelling through them.

"What's wrong with you?!" She barked.

"I..." Dean tried, voice weak from the pain and shock. "S-sorry. I-um... I'm really sorry." He scrambled to get up, the hallway offering nothing to help him, and trying desperately to bite back the incredible agony.

Her glare lessened, chocolate-eyes softening as she looked him up and down as if she were accessing him.

Dean had finally gotten back to his feet, willing the unshed tears of pain in his eyes to retreat. Snapping out of his daze, he hurried forward to help the girl out, even of just a little bit.

But, when he offered a shaking hand, she didn't except. Her suspicious gaze looked at the outstretched arm indifferently, as she easily helped herself back to a proper stance.

"Hey... As long as it was an accident."

Dean wasn't sure if that was a question or not. He couldn't read her.

"An accident." He agreed, hiding his pain like a pro. But, did it hurt! So very much, the ache of his...

Thinking about it only made another wave of grief wash over him, and he was supposed to be acting, right? No use in making the job harder when you have something to do about it.

"Are you hurt?" Dean asked, fearing he may have harmed her with his insolence. Those thoughts of proving himself were now just factors of his embarrassment.

"No, not really." She replied, rubbing her back side gently.

"I'm REALLY sorry, I shoulda watched where I was going, I-"

"Don't worry about it. Really." She smiled at him, actively pursing her red lips and tugging her very short hair behind her ear.

She stuck out a black-nailed hand to him swiftly. "Brooke." She introduced herself.

"Dean." He replied, taking her hand gently. It was hardly a shake, but neither Dean nor Brooke were paying attention.

"So Dean, the question is... Are YOU okay?" Brooke stared him in the eyes, "You seemed pretty hurt on the ground there about two seconds ago." She chuckled.

He hid his fear expertly. "Oh, that? Nah..." He shook his head. Giving her a dazzling smile, which was all fake, he added, "just seeing a pretty girl like you can leave a guy dumbstruck." He'd always been a good sweet-talker. Flirting was good. It got his mind off things.

She laughed, but not a shy one. It was like he saw right through him. "You're cute, Dean."' quirking a brow, she tsks, "but terrible pick-up lines..."

Deans smile falters slightly. He doesn't reply immediately.

"But if you're that desperate..." She says jokingly, drawing out her words in a sigh, "I could use a date to a party..." Her eyebrows raise in offer, grinning devilishly.

Dean is taken aback. She really wants him to go on a date... To a party? Does she know anything about him? Heard any of the rumors?

"A party?" He questions.

"A birthday party," she tells him, going into explanation mode. "It's for my friend, Lilly. We've been planning it all week. Its at the pizza place down the street. You know it?"

Dean shakes his head, no.

"Not far from here. I think it's in the walking-zone, actually..." She mused thoughtfully, going over it in her head. "Anyway, it's tomorrow night. Wanna come with? Unless your busy, or something."

"You really want me to be your date?" He asked seriously.

"Not to smooth with the ladies, are ya, brother?" She laughs at her own joke, "yes, I want you to be my date." she adds quickly to save herself, "because I pity you, of course."

The smile she gives dean clarifies she was joking and he smiles back.

Dean thought about the offer. I'd he went to the pizza place, there could be kids there that would make fun of him. Unless... Wait. What about Brooke? He'd be her date. He'd have a date... Who was a girl... And he could show everyone that he wasn't gay. Well, at the party, at least. But, no matter that, this was his chance!

"I'd love to come." He said excitedly, but stopped Dead in his tracks. Clearing his throat, he prompted himself, "uh, I mean, that's cool. Sure. Why not?"

"Awesome, I'll tell Lilly." She beamed, turning around and about to say goodbye because she would be heading to her class. But she stopped, turning back on her heels to face him again. "Wait," she said. "I guess you'd need at time and place, right?"

Dean looked at her in slight surprise and then nodded sheepishly. "Uh, yeah I guess." He chuckled.

Brooke didn't hesitate to get nearer to him, grabbing his hand and stretching out his palm. He slipped a black marker out of her pocket and pulled off the cap with her teeth.

She began writing on his hand in sharpie, and Dean looked at her gave when doing this, deciding it would be awkward to watch the way she wrote on his palm.

When she was finished, she pulled back, winking at him. "See ya then, Dean." She said smoothly, turning around for the final time and making good work of her hips swiveling.

She didn't realize that he wasn't paying attention to that.

Dean was reading what she wrote as she walked into her classroom.

**'Alfred's Pizzeria **  
**6:00 tomorrow**  
**-Brooke'**

He blew on his hand, willing it to dry without smudging, and then smiled.

This was really happening. Thing were finally looking up.

In a way, he almost thanked Derek this time. If he hadn't done that, he would have never met Brooke, and wouldn't have this amazing opportunity.

Dean couldn't stop smiling, finally happy and overwhelmed by excitement.

He was smiling when he trotted happily to his next class.

Smiling, because it was okay.

Okay... For now.

**(A/N) Yup... really short. And BOR-ING... It's my lack of skill and practice and attention because I've been a total (thirteen year old) dick and I'm such a procrastinator and..**

**WOW **

**I'm self-depricating again, aren't I?**

**Eh, it's justified. **

***wink***

**...The newest chapter will probably be late again and I'm SOOOOORRRRRRRYYYY! But writing is hard, okay?**

**Okay. Now that we got that straightened out, review and call me a dick or say you love me or something because I LOVE YOU! I adore my gorgeous and very very VERY UNREASONABLY patient readers. Thank you so much for putting up with me! :)**


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